Nelly in flight mode
She’d never been abroad before,
no further than her own back door.
But her friends wanted her to escape,
for a girly trip to another landscape.
It would most likely be Spain,
as its fairly quick, there and back again,
Nelly is petrified to fly,
convinced the plane will fall out of the sky.
All booked though and ready for the flight,
got Nelly in an isle seat, so windows out of sight.
Dont want any added stimulants
that would cause certain incidents.
When shes nervous her sphincter loosens,
this would pose a flight risk and be an utter nuisance.
However measures were in place to keep her calm,
as long as nobody says the word, bomb.
To be fair we got her quite drunk,
and so in to slumber she sunk.
However, there was an escape of air,
so we all said the lords prayer.
Copyright july 2020
Nellys blind date
Nellys going out for dinner,
hoping for a big portion to fill her.
She hadn’t been to this posh place before,
going on a blind date, hoping to score.
The menu was a la cart
Nelly was nervous trying not to fart.
but this was quite an upmarket
and her buttocks she would have to brace.
She couldn’t see anything that would fill her belly
not even a plate full blackcurrant jelly.
he ordered ordered a steak,
her wind was giving her belly ache.
There was no conversation no sound,
her wind now his direction bound,
Nelly wished there was an ejection seat,
he just sat there, playing with his meat.
Not the place to behave like that
she should have just had a take out,
no more blind dates
and now her wind safely escapes.
Nellys guide to gardening
Trowel in hand, ready to start
her mission was simple, not to fart.
So poised with her buttocks aloft,
a questionable noise and a lethal waft.
She had bent down further than advised,
but now it could not be disguised,
unable now to control her wind,
her sphincter had somewhat thinned.
It’s not everyone’s cup of tea,
to spend the day down on your knee.
Though the fresh air and quiet hush,
Is lovely, whilst trimming your bush
But not to be put off she tried again,
this time with less haste, no methane.
She undoubtedly would be disgraced,
neighbours minds can never be erased.
I think the garden is not for our Nelly,
polluting the world and making it smelly.
Owing to her ailing ringpiece,
her problems will only increase.
Helen George copyright 2020
Time And Emotion
Sometimes a week can feel a like a year,
with so many memories we hold dear.
When time is against our emotions,
think in terms of deep blue oceans.
Wouldn’t it be great if time stood still,
and we had choices and our own free will.
But the clock ticks round without a care,
not worried by our thoughts, or aware.
If we could capture are favourite thought,
and nurture it in the way we were taught,
Maybe then the clock would tick in our favour,
and prized moments in life we could savour.
Helen George copyright
Means being apart from others,
observing the two metre rule,
not seeing our mothers and brothers,
or fathers and sisters too.
It will sadly become the norm,
and we will be judged,
on how we perform,
people will feel very begrudged.
When will we hug again,
or dare we touch at all.
Scary times it goes against the grain,
do we even have the wherewithal.
We have to learn to communicate,
In a very different way,
distanced further from our work mates,
we will be two metres away.
I think picnics in the park,
will be the safest way to dine,
our communities will be stark,
not the same ambiance as a restaurant with wine.
So the animals went in two by two,
maybe that’s the way to go,
but that will cause a hullabaloo,
and all to prevent an overflow.
Things will never be quite the same,
but maybe there’s an end in sight,
we cant stop living and lay blame.
We need to stand together and fight.
Helen George copyright May 2020
The rise and fall of Nellys other half
Dont get me wrong, he weren’t a sex god,
he were far to slipshod.
For years it’s been redundant,
although his sperm were once very abundant.
All sorts can be done with flaccidity,
and what with my frigidity,
hopeless match on the nooky stakes.
It’s rising to the occasion, bloody ages it takes
I’ve gone of the boil by that time,
it’s often well passed nine,
then its cocoa for me, rather than a forridge,
takes him all nite, I am lay there thinking about me porridge.
He were in his prime, back in the day,
when it was a pleasure to shag in the back of a Chevrolet.
But now there’s more excitement in his floppy hat,
than in his willy and thats that.
Helen Margaret George
Copyright Sep 2020